Discarded Assembly
by DiscardedNotes
Summary: Welcome to the Den of Discard, where I dump everything and anything related to HP that pops in my head. Mainly one-shots that my head thinks up out of nowhere, stuff I'd normally delete since I can't think of a full story for it. This will also include crossovers. If you're interested in any of these ficlets, feel free to PM me for more information or for adoption.
1. Temporal Displacement

**A/N: Inspiration to write a little hit, so who am I to deny myself the opportunity? I didn't know what I wanted to write though, and this ended up happening so I think it fitting as the first entry to the _Discarded Assembly._ **

**It is unlikely I'll continue this particular entry, though feel free to speculate about it and ask questions or post your speculation in the reviews. I'm not looking for any praise but I'm certainly interested to see what you guys make of this.**

 **It's also much shorter than I'm jused to writing, but have fun nonetheless~**

* * *

Behind closed walls, sibilant hisses echo across the room, two figures sitting in the centre of it. Or rather a man and a serpent, calmly conversing in the middle of the night.

"You'll do it, then?" One asked calmly, regarding the other both with trepidation and curiosity. They hadn't attempted this before and while it would certainly be interesting, so much could go wrong...

"Of course." The other replied, a small smile playing at his lips. "You know me well Sillandros, I'm not one to turn down a challenge."

"No, indeed not. And yet it always puts you in the most terrible situations." He shook his head, a low hiss escaping him as he regarded the young man in front of him, across from him on the dark plush chair.

"But that's what makes it so much fun..." The first replied again, a pout making it's way onto his face, only barely visible in the dim light of the single candle resting on a short coffee table between them.

"I'll come with you, of course."

A sigh, then. "Naturally. Nothing I could say would dissuade you anyway, old friend."

Laughter hissed across the room, pleased with a hint of smugness. "Of course, you're far too much of a hazard to be left alone; and as my entertainment I expect you to remain alive."

It was his turn to laugh now. "And here I was under the impression you cared... You wound me Sillandros."

"Liar."

* * *

The next evening torches line the walls of the closed room, and diagrams written in fresh blood line the floor and the walls, a few runes even scatter across the ceiling, everything meticulously placed and held into position by magic. Even the slightest mistake or displacement and everything would go horribly wrong.

Perhaps that was why he was feeling so thrilled, so alive right now in this world that had nothing left to offer him. He had Sillandros, but that had been more luck than anything else, and considering the bipolar nature in which the Lady favours him, it does not surprise him. No longer does it surprise Sillandros either who used to call him strange and is now draped weightily over his shoulders, readying himself for the ritual.

"After this there is no going back." He hissed softly, as if to affirm both the other's decision as well as materialise in some way the gravity of what they were about to do.

The other shifted and allowed his robe to fall off of him outside of the runic diagrams and symbols, finishing the design by drawing connecting runes onto his own flesh, carved ever so carefully but with a practiced hand.

"Good."


	2. Purple Death

**A/N: Have a small KHR crossover with Harry as Skull that I wrote up quite a while ago. It was (probably quite obviously) inspired by the existing Harry-Is-Skull fics. I don't remember the names or authors of them obviously but they're quite good so go check them out. Anyone who has read them can tell I got my inspiration off of existing fics so no bashing. We all get our creative juices from where we can.**

 **I also have an unhealthy obsession with the Varia and couldn't resist leaving them out. Anyone wanting to share enthusiasm about them is more than welcome in my PMs because I will never be done rambling about how much I love them.**

 **Ok I'm done rambling—**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

The first time he realised something wasn't quite right was when he realised that no matter what he did, the blasted artefacts that made one the 'Master of Death' refused to be discarded.

Harry could leave them in the deepest vaults in Gringotts, abandoned in the thickest of forests or even sunken to the deepest depths of the ocean and yet within the next 12 hours, all three items would be returned to him, because somehow it had been decided he was the _Master of Death_. Great.

The first time he realised what being the Master of Death truly meant he had still been seventeen, soon to become eighteen. He had thought that with Voldemort defeated he could finally begin to live a little, leave the war behind and find his own way in life. He had been a fool to believe in such things...

Harry had tried taking his life for the first time when he realised that the wizarding world had no intention of leaving him alone. Between the apparent obligation to marry Ginny, the apparent duty to aid the still corrupted ministry and the apparent apathy he was supposed to undergo at the death of the people he held dear.

Naturally he wasn't about to let them drag him into their obligations even more deeply, so he decided that he might as well make it all stop. He didn't know how to escape them and he felt like he didn't owe anything to anyone anymore. Hadn't he suffered enough?

Apparently not.

Death was the one to greet him in the whiteness this time, although the blinding white of the station he had been at before had instead been turned into a grey room, some parts darker or lighter than others. Death had proceeded to explain his immortality to him, as well as Death's messenger and pawn on earth. He didn't take too kindly to that...

When he woke up, he somehow knew what he had to do and spent about a third of his family vault in permanently altering his looks as well as forging his identity in both worlds. Instead of the haunting green he was used to, everything about him had become completely purple. He wore make-up and even got piercings or tattoos, though such things hardly mattered to him anymore.

Deciding to give Death the finger for forcing immortality upon him, he ignored Death's wish of his new 'career' and instead became a stuntman after travelling around to see what he liked. He learned many languages on his travels and though it seemed like a long time would have passed, he was only nearing nineteen. But then again, magic always did make things easier.

He was barely nineteen when shit hit the fan.  
Somehow he and six others had been gathered into a room and turned into a rag-tag family— or Famiglia, apparently. And since when was he involved with the mafia anyway!? Thankfully Luce hadn't minded his confusion and explained everything to him. He still wasn't happy about it though, but used the persona he had built for himself in order to survive.

Harry Potter was no more; in his stead Skull de Mort took the stage loudly and excitedly. Skull had built the reputation of being "The Immortal Skull-sama!" in his short time of stunting because of the ridiculously dangerous crap he could do and survive. No one knew how close that title hit to home but by pretending to be weak and easily intimidated, Skull managed to hide the truth from even those among the most observant in the world. It was almost surprising no one could see the warrior in him...

He really should have seen coming what happened next. He was never allowed to live in any form of peace or happiness, but he supposed he might as well see this as Death's punishment for disobeying the call. Now he was stuck in the body of an infant, a two year old to be precise and it ticked him off just as much as it did the others.

Still, no one had any idea of who he was and who he had been and he liked it that way. He'd told Luce once, but she'd be unable to tell anyone now, and no necromancer would know to call on her for answers. Still, he'd been tempted by the possibilities more than once, Death's stone sitting heavily in his pocket.

Time passed as time was wont to do, slowly. Excruciatingly so. He had an inkling of how Voldemort had felt now, all those years as a disembodied spirit. Those many years stuck in the body of an infant were no better. Bless magic or he'd never have managed to get anything done... How the others managed was beyond him sometimes but he knew they always adapted well. It was probably bad he had yet to notice he'd started seeing them as the Famiglia they were supposed to be, rather than a group of disconcertingly frightening muggles he should be wary of.

Speaking of people he should be wary of... The Carcassa Famiglia was beginning to bore him, and that was never a good thing where Harry or Skull were concerned. Perhaps he should check out that Varia Mammon had been so stoically proud of? It would certainly be interesting to meet anyone she actively approved of.

Not to mention dangerous, and he did so love the thrill.


	3. Blade

**A/N: So I was watching an episode of Shinsengumi and promptly wanted to do a whole thing with Harry finding a magical sword in his ancestral home or something that could deflect magic and whatever but apparently my fingers and my brain didn't agree bc this is all I managed. Feel free to take the idea (and the magic sword while you're a it) and turn it into something much more awesome and legible than this (and let me know bc I'll wanna read it~)**

* * *

When Dudley was younger he'd gotten interested in Japanese cartoons that would sometimes show on TV and harry had taken to sneaking several peaks when he could while doing his chores. One of his favourite shows at the time had been one about so-called samurai, amazing sword wielding people who looked like they could take on the world and look graceful while doing it.

Due to both his size and situation, he'd always dearly wished he could wield a sword himself, as he felt it would be able to protect him against people like Dudley and his uncle. Of course, there was no way anyone in that house would actually allow him the opportunity to learn and fight with a sword.

It wasn't until he turned eleven and first set foot in Diagon Alley that opportunities started opening up for him. Between magic and his huge vault, he could surely afford a katana, lessons and a way to hide it all from everyone. These magic people didn't look like they liked muggles much and you could see everyone waving around the sticks they called wands. That certainly didn't look like a very sure way to defend yourself to Harry...

And so he invested in everything he could possibly need for his new training. He also looked around to see if there was any place he could hide out in and make his home, though it seemed unlikely the muggle world would allow an underage boy with a reputation like his live by himself...

As it turns out, asking the goblins was a great idea, as they pointed him to several surviving Potter properties he could move into. Harry chose Potter Manor, hoping it would help him find out more about his family as well; his _real_ family.

Harry spent the remainder of the summer at his new home, looking for a tutor to learn how to wield a blade, and reading through his new schoolbooks. He'd never even thought magic was real; there was no way he wasn't reading ahead to see what he could expect!

Learning how to wield a blade would be hard, but he was more than willing to put in the required effort, and if it could save his life he would not hesitate to learn as much as possible. After all, this Voldemort guy was still out there according to Hagrid... Not to mention his followers probably wanted him dead as well, and Harry had every intention of surviving to experience living properly.


	4. Kill Count

**A/N: Here's a lil snippet I just felt like writing up from an AU I've been dying to rp yet haven't had the chance to. KHR rp'ers are difficult creatures to find, it seems x3 (hit me up if you are one btw, I play canon characters too)**

* * *

When Harry came back from that mission he'd been shaky, quiet and withdrawn. He had handed in the necessary paperwork to keep Squalo or Mammon from biting his head off but had otherwise disappeared into his room and barely even came out to eat.

The only one allowed to generally enter was Lussuria, who had taken it upon himself to feed the boy when he refused to do so himself. Though it was for that very reason that Mammon now floated in front of the bland door that led into Harry's room.

The sun guardian had asked him to get 'Harry-dear' to talk, considering Lussuria had failed and Mammon was the only one with enough knowledge about their young cloud's background. That Lussuria had been willing to pay him for his time was really the only thing that had made him do it— not the money itself but that Lussuria was worried enough to agree to a price.

The Esper barely made the effort to knock and when no answer was forthcoming, he ignored the door completely and phased into the room, surprised to find that it looked exactly the same as when they had given it to him. There was a trunk at the foot of the bed now and parchment, a quill and pencils lying on the desk but it remained completely impersonalised otherwise, something Mammon would not have expected of a teenager.

"I take it that was your first kill." He began bluntly, approaching the huddled form on the bed that was refusing to do so much as acknowledge his senior's presence. When no answer was forthcoming he approached the boy to get him to react, but was stopped by the look un his eyes. Unseeing but still haunted... The Potter boy was reliving memories and looked like he would be trapped in them for the time being.

With a sigh the Mist made himself comfortable on a chair he materialised out of illusions and sat down, documenting the boy's reactions. There wasn't much to document though, other than the movement of his eyes and the changing emotions within them.

Harry started when he was finally freed from the memory, something like a nickname breezing past his lips before he could stop himself. Padfoot, or something similar, it must have been. Mammon didn't quite know. While he out of everyone in the Varia was the most knowledgeable about the magical world, that didn't mean he kept up with the news. Goblins were notoriously difficult to make money off of, though he did occasionally enjoy the challenge.

"Mammon... I'm sorry, I didn't see you enter..." The boy muttered, shaking himself out of the memory and turning towards the other in what looked like a practiced manner. It was too smooth and deliberate to be anything else, the way he casually crossed his legs while his fingers clutched the leg of his pants more tightly than was appropriate for the image he was trying to portray.

"Mu, it's fine. I'm being paid for this, anyway." He replied, earning a small yet somehow humourless chuckle from Harry. Of course Mammon hadn't come of his own volition. No doubt Lussuria had commissioned him to help, and while Harry appreciated the gesture in a sense, he wasn't sure he was willing to accept it.

"I don't want to talk." A silence had stretched out between them until he said that, each contemplating the other and the situation at large from different yet equally interesting viewpoints.

"Neither do I. If I wanted to be a counsellor I would be, however I am in charge of you and that was obviously your first kill. Get it out of your system so this charade can be over with." And I can be paid for my time. He may not have said it, but the sentiment was there, hanging between them as it always was.

"My first..." Harry's eyes briefly went back to that dull look as he remembered another bad experience, but this time quickly freed himself from it. "No, it wasn't my first. But I've never killed this intentionally before." It was odd to speak of Quirrel now, over five years later.

No one had seemed to care then, and Harry had quite deliberately forgotten. But that hadn't made the nightmares go away, the memory of flesh turning to ash under his fingertips when he was barely old enough to reach the man's face. He had killed him intentionally then, too. But not in the sense that he had been aware that his actions would kill someone, and even after no one had talked it through with him as Mammon was attempting to do now.

Mammon narrowed his eyes. If this was not Harry Potter's first kill, then who was? He hadn't kept up with much magical news but this would have made headlines across all the magical communities... The boy was barely sixteen now, how old would he have been then? Potter still looked haunted by his past, that kill included, which insinuated PTSD and a complete lack of counselling for the trauma the boy would have gone through.

"Tell me." He demanded blandly. Mammon cared little for sweet, soft words and meaningless chatter. Time is money and as a result he was curt, quick and blunt and cared not one bit that others found this offensive on many occasions. He had better things to be doing than wasting his time on the emotions of trash.

To Harry however, that blunt honest edge was comforting, in a way. It was so different from anything he was used to and helped him detach from the situation so he could tell his tale without reliving it too much. Not only that but the Mist would not expect any emotion from him either, unlike Lussuria or someone like Hermione would. They would want him to pour his heart out and they'd coddle him and treat him like glass, be worried over him constantly and he would rather not be subjected to that.

"I was eleven when it happened..." He started, focussing his gaze on the floor in front of Mammon's chair. "He was our defence against the dark arts professor and possessed by Voldemort. Dumbledore, our headmaster, hid Nicholas Flamel's philosopher stone in the school; apparently to keep it safe..." Harry told him of the suspicion, McGonagall ignoring them when they went to her for help, braving the traps with his friends and ending up with Quirrel in that room, fighting for his life after staring down Voldemort.

Mammon, for his part, listened and remained quiet, not once interrupting. Eleven... Merlin be damned, the brat had barely even learned about wizards and he'd been forced to kill, however accidental that had been. And shockingly, none of them had bothered to bring the boy to the attention of a mind healer, even just in case. British wizards were stupid and lacked common sense, this he had known already, but this was a whole new level... People should be fined for this sort of idiocy.

Curiosity got the better of him then, and he began asking more. If such a huge thing could have been covered up, what else had happened at that school? Harry was obviously haunted by more than just that and they had yet to cover his most recent kill as well. Mammon would be willing to simply listen and give his input more cheaply, just this once...


End file.
